NAY, tell me not. I will not know. <br />Because of her my life is bare, <br />A waste where blow-seeds spring and grow <br />Then die because the soil is spent, <br />And leave no token they were there; <br />A soddened mere where marsh-lights gleam, <br />But no star sees the ray it lent <br />Because of her despoiled and bare. <br />What then? she did a wrong unmeant. <br />Leave me my dream. <br /> <br />Tell me no more. I will not know. <br />My life, if she had harsher eyes, <br />Did her sweet voice not deepen so, <br />Had maybe missed this bitterness; <br />Maybe I should have been more wise <br />If she were sterner, or could seem, <br />If she could have been pitiless. <br />Too sweet low voice! too trustful eyes! <br />What then? she could not judge their stress <br />Leave me my dream. <br /> <br />I will not know. Rob not my heart: <br />It is too poor to lose yet more. <br />Leave the old dream where she was part: <br />Are all smiles ill, all sweetness lies? <br />One blossom once my life-time bore, <br />It wakened at her April beam, <br />Then froze; yet dead 'tis still some prize <br />It shows mine blossoms were of yore. <br />Let be: I need some memories: <br />Leave me my dream.<br /><br />Augusta Davies Webster<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-old-dream/
